Fall capsule ’21

My fall capsule is finally complete. I was a few sweaters shy of being “ready”.

I complete my fall capsules in two waves. The first wave has a few more t-shirts and shorts to get me though the September heat in Virginia. The second wave has no shorts, and more sweaters. I’ll also pull my Teva sandals and replace them with boots. Transitional seasons surprise me each day with their weather, I let my capsule adjust as needed.

This year was another year of decluttering as well. My body has grown and changed, a few pairs of jeans too tight at the waist to consider comfortable, I thanked them and let them go. It’s true what they say – clothes are made to fit us, not the other way around.

Shopping second hand and shopping infrequently allows me to purchase “new” clothes that actually fit my body. With a capsule, there are fewer pieces to add or change or replace. Its a more gentle process than buying an entirely new wardrobe.

When my body changed after pregnancy, I took it season by season. Finding a minimal number of items that fit and wearing and loving them as I loved my body in each stage. Then, in a new season, if my body was new again I adjusted.

Capsules are not about buying new again and again. They are a more manageable way to exist. When I pull out my seasonal items each capsule, they feel brand new. Less to worry or stress about. Less to wash, dry, fold, repeat.

Themes from this capsule are: fall tone pants and trousers, hints of blue and rust, feminine mixed with masculine. Comfort, comfort, comfort.

My capsule tends to speak to me, and I can feel when it’s just right. Full of items that hold and comfort me. Ready to dress me up, keep me warm, or just get me through until bedtime.

More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx

My favorite capsule planner

Where it all began


Reflection – summer capsule

Here in Virginia, it is late Summer. The grass is dry, but our trees are in full bloom. Visited by hummingbirds and bees. Butterflies blessing us with kisses and flutters.

It is the last month of my summer capsule, I am not quite sure how that happened. The minimal, seasonal closet I curated for three months of wear has served me so well.

It saw me through trips to the beach, visits to sister’s house, parks and pools and a vacation to California.

Each summer piece is full of light and life and memories. Because my items are so few, I have strong memories tied to each and every one.

The shorts I wore to a dear friend’s bachelorette. The top I wore to the most outrageous, fever-dream of a birthday party. The sweater I wore breathing in the cool breeze on the harbor. Holding my baby close and inhaling the sweet scent of him. The rainbow sandals I wear with just about everything.

5 dresses, 1 jacket, 1 sweater, 3 shorts, 10 tops, 1 co-ord set, 1 sandal, 1 sneaker, 3 necklaces.

I do not worry about clothes. I love them, I honor them, I use them to feel beautiful and comfortable – but I do not worry about them.

I do not keep items that no longer fit, I do not have a closet packed with items I will never wear, I do not have storage bins or bags full of “just in case” items.

I have what I will use. And I use what I have.

And in the coming weeks, I will tuck away the warm weather items and bring forth the bright yellows, rusts, and deep greens. Colors I wear to welcome fall, she is nearly here.

More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx


“The most anti-capitalist protest is to care for another and to care for yourself. To take on the historically feminized and therefore invisible practice of nursing, nurturing, caring. To take seriously each other’s vulnerability and fragility and precarity, and to support it, honor it, empower it. To protect each other, to enact and practice community. A radical kinship, an interdependent sociality, a politics of care.” Johanna Hedva

Our American culture exists in direct opposition to my nature. I wake wanting to walk outside with my coffee, bare feet in the tall grass. Checking our garden for signs of growth, thanking the worms for being so purposeful in their digging.

I do this for a while. Playing and laughing with my little one, greeting our dogs and the morning sun.

But, eventually, my coffee goes cold and the anxiety in me rises. It’s time.

Time to start the checklist. Get everyone breakfast, get myself and my little dressed. He protests, “But I want to stay in my jammies and play mama.”

“I know little one, me too.” I answer

I don’t want to go exchange my energy, light, and love for money. I don’t want to make white men richer and richer as I become sad and tired. I don’t want to listen to them talk about numbers and growth for the sake of growth.

I don’t want to listen to the supposed leaders of this mess tell me, “Well that’s just the way the world works.”

There is another way. There are one million other ways. We created this system, we can just as easily break it and form something new. A new way of being that honors the earth and the creatures that live here, including us.

This pandemic was an awakening. More people than ever are questioning this system, this mess we are in. The one that glorifies money and pleasures for the richest at the expense of all others.

So, what can we do?

For those of us with privilege and time, we start changing. We start making decisions and choices that slowly turn us away from the current system and toward something new. We take action for the good of all instead of the good of a few, and we watch it ripple.

We start to imagine. What sort of world is utopia to you? Not what you want, what your heart and soul yearn for.

For me, it is one where all beings, who are our relatives after all, are honored and cared for. One where there are no police and prisons, but restorative justice and healing.

I yearn for a world where we stop focusing on growth and only do what is sustainable and good for all.

And I’m not the only one. It’s time to live better.

Because, once we are all ill and confined to the bed, sharing our stories of therapies and comforts,
forming support groups, bearing witness to each other’s tales of trauma, prioritizing the care and
love of our sick, pained, expensive, sensitive, fantastic bodies, and there is no one left to go to
work, perhaps then, finally, capitalism will screech to its much-needed, long-overdue, and
motherfucking glorious halt.

More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx


I do not dream of labor


other ways of living

Beauty in ordinary living

Sick Woman


What if everything was okay.

What if we had plenty of money, plenty of love, plenty of safety and beauty and fun.

What if the way he wanted me was filling and trustworthy, and the way he loved my baby was pure.

What if this house made me weep with joy because it was just what I had always wanted.

What if just two years after everything fell apart, I found myself exactly where I had always dreamed I would be.

Not perfect, no. Plenty of exhaustion and bickering. Too much pet hair and laundry to fold. Home projects to complete and grass that is somehow always too tall.

Not perfect, just good. Really good and safe and real.

What if for the first time in my life, or in a very long while, I am safe.

Full and content and safe.

What if I stopped running and searching and working and longing just long enough to stop and see where I am.

The place I have been looking for.

The place I knew, then lost, then thought I had built, then lost again.


More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx